


Seasons

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:38:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: This was a prompt of "seasons," though at the moment, I don't remember who sent it.  I'll add it if I find it.





	Seasons

The spring equinox had only just passed, and the days had yet to lengthen into a balance of light and dark.  Nights bore a lingering chill, while the first hints of green were sprouting from the waking earth and unfurling from their winter hiding places.  Standing just outside the tent flap, Niyera hugged her cloak closer about her thin arms, and each breath curled tendrils of white along the edges of her hood before they disappeared into the air.  She desperately wanted the chill to be gone, and she longed to run barefoot through sun-warmed grass.  

 

A wedge of light fell across her back along with a push of heat, and her shadow stretched out before her, narrow and straight, as another larger rose to eclipse it.  “Come,  _ asha'lan _ .  It is too chilly to linger outside,” the voice at her back said, and without glancing over her shoulder, she answered.  “ _ Mamae _ , when will it be warm again?  I’m tired of being cooped up all day,” Niyera groused as she finally looked over her shoulder to her mother, who stood with a temperate smile on her lips.  “Soon enough,  _ da'lin _ .  Don’t be so impatient.  Everything comes in its own time,” her mother replied as she held open the tent flap.  WIth a huff of discontent, the young girl ducked under her mother’s arm and disappeared inside.

 

* * *

Humid and hot, the setting of the sun had done nothing to lessen the intense heat of the day.  The bonfires that dotted the open field did nothing for it either, though she was out of reach of their flames.  Besides, she had kindled her own fire.  A fierce spark of jealousy and anger burned in her chest, and it was more than enough to paint a swath of red across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.  Right down her neck the heavy flush went, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dark green linen blouse.  Not that anyone could see it in the darkness, as she was sitting a goodly distance away from the celebrations, slouched in the grass.  Staring at a pair of figures dancing around the nearest bonfire, she pinches off blade after blade of grass, twisting and grinding it between her fingers before throwing it to the ground.

 

So lost in her own dismal thoughts, she failed to see the figure skirting closer to her along the edge of the field.  “Why are you hiding out here?” her mother’s voice came through the darkness, and though surprised, Niyera didn’t stir outwardly.  She also didn’t speak, but instead ripped up a whole fistful of grass before tossing it down again.  The elder elf regarded her daughter with bright viridian eyes from beneath a shock of black hair and silently sat in the grass at her side.  Long moments passed, and the scent of broken green hung in the air.  Finally, the adolescent Niyera spoke, and when she did, her mother could hear the tremor of tears in her voice though she couldn’t see them.  “Why doesn’t he want to dance with me,  _ Mamae _ ?”  The woman tucked a silky lock of white hair behind her daughter’s ear as she spoke, “Because you do not flatter him as she does.  He doesn’t yet realize the value of a mate that will tell him what he needs to hear rather than what he wants to hear.”  The younger elf glanced at her mother, and the elder brushed her tears away with a thumb.  “Don’t waste your tears,  _ da’lin _ .  You deserve better than a match made on such tenuous foundations.”

 

* * *

 

A hollow rustling sound filled her ears as the Keeper spoke, but the words were swept away with the leaves as the wind bustled by them.  “Are you listening, Niyera?” the elf’s stern voice snapped, dragging her from her reverie, and she turned her viridian eyes up to meet his.  “Yes, you’re telling me you’re not willing to do anything for her.  We haven’t exhausted all the options.  The shems might-,” and the Keeper’s raised hand silenced her protests.  Her jaw set as she ground her teeth together so hard that she heard them squeak.  “That is not the case at all.  You must trust me when I tell you that there is nothing more tha-,” and his voice drew off when she cut a vicious glare up at him before turning her back and retreating her her family’s tent.  Once inside, she went immediately to her mother’s cot and knelt down beside it.  Niyera took her mother’s hand in her own.  “ _ Mamae _ ,” she whispered, and when the elder turned her head, she smiled at her daughter.

 

The young woman pressed her cheek against the back of her mother’s hand and refused to look away from the other’s eyes as she spoke.  “The Keeper will not permit me to seek assistance elsewhere.  He insists that there is nothing else to be found,” she said, her voice strained and careful with a mixture of sadness and anger.  “If only I were older, if I were Keeper, I’d-,” and the touch of the elder’s fingers on her lips silenced her.  Her mother smiled, as she always did, and said, “Do not wish your life away,  _ da’lin _ .  The years will come quickly enough and seem much too short when they’ve gone.”  The woman, whose black hair was streaked down with white, coughed harshly, wincing before she settled again.  “I am but a season, and like them, my time has come and passed.  It’s the way of Nature.”  Niyera closed her eyes when she kissed her mother’s knuckles and whispered, “Ar lath ma,  _ Mamae _ .”

 

* * *

Standing atop Skyhold’s battlements, a fierce gust of wind raked across the mountains, stirring flakes of snow from their beds and tossing them into her hair and eyelashes.  The last light of day was dwindling among the peaks of the range, splintering into shades of gold, pink, and crimson before being swallowed up by the encroaching indigo of nightfall.  She sighed, her breath a fist of white on the air that died before it was fully formed.  Her nose and cheeks were red with the touch of the wind, and she huddled down into her cloak, wrapping her arms about herself from beneath.  Sometimes, she thought she heard her mother’s voice on the winds.  In spring, when the first subtle breezes stirred the scents of green and growing things, she heard her say, “Don’t be impatient.  All things in their own time.”  In the summer, when the wind was a blessing amid the stifling and sweltering heat, she heard, “Build on solid foundations.  Seek the spoils that are not easily won.”  In autumn, as the leaves spiraled from their moorings in the trees to tumble along the ground, she heard, “Savor life.  Do not wish yourself hurriedly through, but value all experiences for they are like seasons.  They come, they pass, and then they come again.  The same but different.  This is the nature of things.”

 

From behind, a strong and lithe pair of arms encircled her waist, blanketing heat against her back.  The scent of sandalwood and parchment came with the embrace, and Solas pressed a kiss into her hair before settling his chin on her shoulder.  “You should come in, vhenan.  It is far too cold for sunset watching this evening.”  His voice was warm against her ear, and it sent a tenuous shiver through her.  She smiled, resting her hands over his where they clasped on her hip.  “Soon, I promise.  Go on in.  I’ll be there presently.”  Her lover regarded her silently for a moment before he deposited another kiss on the crown of her head.  “As you like, ma lath,” was his response, and he disappeared back inside.  Solas often knew when not to press a matter, and thankfully, he judged this moment accurately.  Though, in a way, she was certain he’d have understood, but all the same, she didn’t want to have to explain that she couldn’t come inside because she was listening.  She didn’t want to seem mad.  She took in a deep breath of the frigid air and held it, savoring the sting of it in her lungs before she exhaled.  She closed her eyes, shutting out the gilding light of the fading day that cast golden shadows across the mountainside.  And, she listened.

 

She heard it before she felt it; a howl of wind coursed through the snowy peaks surrounding Skyhold.  The way it echoed back to itself sounded like a pack of wolves baying at the full moon.  It was haunting and beautiful and chilling.  When at last the gust reached her, she wasn’t prepared for it.  It rocked her back on her heels as she nearly lost her balance, but a hand on the stone railing steadied her.  She listened beyond the bluster of it in her ears, past the whistling, past the howl.  Beneath it all, she heard what she’d been waiting for; her mother’s voice rang in her mind as clearly as if she were standing at her side.  From beneath the lost years under which it had been buried, the memory surfaced.  In the winter, her mother used to tell her, “Don’t go running off into the drifts.  You never know how deep they might be.  Before you know it, you’ll be in over your head.”  Niyera, of course, always argued, but her mother persisted.  “The winter is devious,  _ da’lin _ .  To look at, the snow is beauty and stillness, but once trapped, the ice lulls you and steals your will.  In its cold arms, you will think yourself falling into a peaceful sleep, though it will be death that claims you.  Beware,  _ da’lin _ , of dangers that don pretty masks.”

 

At her back, a wedge of light fell across her, and she heard Solas’s voice.  “Vhenan?”  Opening her eyes, she tugged up the collar of her cloak and turned.  “Coming, ma lath,” was her answer.


End file.
